


Two Cats

by Pinkmanite



Category: James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: Drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2018-05-02 17:27:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5257268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinkmanite/pseuds/Pinkmanite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Bond meets Q's flatmates for the first time (and by flatmates, I mean his cats).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Cats

If there’s one thing that Q hates, it the sound of his work mobile blaring in the middle of the night solely because it ends up waking his entire household. Yes, by household he means himself and his living pillows, his precious two cats.

When his darlings are grumpy, Q is grumpy.

“What is it?” he yawns into his mobile, rubbing his eyes awake. He absently gropes about his nightstand until he finds his glasses, shoving them on.

“Good evening, Q. Or rather good morning, I suppose. Anyhow, I’ve just landed from my little excursion in Hong Kong and I happened to pick up some souvenirs for you, bringing them over right now, actually.”

“Bond, is that you? Do you have any idea what time it is? Of course you don’t, nevermind that, but please do explain why this can’t wait until the morning when--hm I don’t know--it’s within my work hours?” Q groans but he’s up on his feet, pulling a random shirt from the floor over his head. Bond will just have to deal with this.  One of the cats--the plump, grey shorthair one--starts to paw at his trousers in an attempt for his attention. He gently shoves the cat away. It sulks off to another room.

“Actually, M is sending me to the Caribbean in two days but these goodies won’t clear R&D for at least a week. And you know I can’t bare to travel without my comfort toys,” Bond whines. Q sighs and thinks about all of the brilliant things he could be doing with his life instead of playing toymaker to Double-ohs that acted like overgrown children.

“Well, I’m already awake and I take it you’re nearly here if not already here. Just knock, it’s number five-ten.”

Where did that cat go? Q feels kind of bad, he should probably seek him out and apologise.

There’s a bump and quiet clattering noise in the other room that causes Q to stiffen. He deadpans when he hears one of his lovely cats meow in alarm. The fluffy white ragdoll cat scrambles out of the next room and under the couch.

“One second,” Q sets the mobile down and blinks from the cat’s hiding place then to the next room. He curses and tiptoes to the kitchen to grab the SIG P226 hidden in a false bottom drawer.

Q tiptoes the next room, safety off and arms extended, ready to shoot. He swiftly makes a sharp turn around the doorframe and aims at the man standing right in the middle of the room, fingers already beginning to apply pressure to the trigger just as realisation hits him.

“Shit, Bond, I told you to fucking knock, not break in through my bloody window. I almost shot you!” Q falls against the wall and groans. He puts the safety back on and ushers Bond to follow him back into the kitchen. He put his pistol back into its hiding place while Bond unloads a duffel bag onto the counter.

He better not scratch the goddamn granite.

Meanwhile, the fluffy ragdoll reappears, the initial fright wearing off and curiosity taking over. She haughtily climbs up to the countertop by daintily stepping over a crate and a chair. Her head is held high as she boldly settles herself right on top of Bond’s bag.

“Hey! Get off, you bear! Q, help me, please,” Bond exclaims, poking cautiously at the fluffy thing, which decides to roll around on top of the bag.

Q is appalled. “Excuse me, you do not speak to Her Majesty like that! What’s wrong with you? Invading her home, scaring her half to death, and having the utter nerve to speak to her like that. Have you no honor? Christ,” Q carefully scoops her up and kisses her head.

Bond is dumbfounded. “Her Majesty? Really?”

Q shoots him a look over his shoulder as he gently scratches her ears. “Well, that’s obviously not her given name. Is it the Queen’s? Don’t be ridiculous, Bond, her name is Elizabeth.”

“You name your cat Elizabeth and proceed to call it ‘Her Majesty,’” Bond says slowly as he processes this information. He blinks a few times, glances at the half-unpacked duffel bag, and rethinks his own life choices. This is his Quartermaster, the man who constantly holds his life in his hands. The same man who calls his pet cat “Her Majesty.”

It’s purely coincidental that the grey shorthair decides to wander in around the same time. Seeing his owner’s preoccupation with Her Majesty, he decides to investigate the mysterious stranger… by nipping at his trouser leg.

Bond yelps in surprise and nearly kicks the poor thing, much to Q’s horror.

“You heathen!” Q quickly deposits Her Majesty on the couch and runs over to scoop up the shorthair, cradling it like a baby. “What, do you normally enter someone’s home, scare their children to death and then try to kick them, too?”

Bond rolls his eyes, “what’s that one called? The Dauphin?”

Q glowers at him. “And you wonder why MI6 never allows you to name anything,” Q pauses to snuggle the cat closer to him. He flashes Bond a proud look, the type a doting father would boast while showing off his golden boy.

“This is the Catermaster.”

Bond take a deep breath and excuses himself. He needs a moment.

**Author's Note:**

> I was messaging some friends after watching Spectre and we decided that Elizabeth "Her Majesty" and the Catermaster were definitely our headcanon names for the kitties. Couldn't pass up the opportunity to write Bond's reaction, haha.
> 
> Also, if you enjoyed this little drabble, please consider liking or reblogging it on [tumblr](http://baewhishaw.tumblr.com/post/133665586753/), thanks!


End file.
